


Such a Glorious Faith (The Dorothy Parker's Dog Remix)

by elrhiarhodan



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Background Iris West/Eddie Thawne - Freeform, Collars, Eobarry, Introspection, Leashes, Light BDSM, M/M, Mention of Joe West - Freeform, Mention of Julian Albert, Puppy Play, Speed Force Misusage, Timeline Shenanigans, barrison, mention of Cisco Ramon - Freeform, reflections
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2018-12-17 02:27:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11842056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elrhiarhodan/pseuds/elrhiarhodan
Summary: A package arrives for Barry, from the Harrison Wells Living Trust.  Eobard Thawne's sending him a memory of something important - not to taunt him, but to make him remember that not everything was a lie.





	Such a Glorious Faith (The Dorothy Parker's Dog Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dancesontrains](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancesontrains/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Puppy Love](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5744701) by [dancesontrains](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancesontrains/pseuds/dancesontrains). 



> Title from the Dorothy Parker Poem, "[Verse For a Certain Dog](https://www.poemhunter.com/poem/verse-for-a-certain-dog/)"
> 
>   _Such a glorious faith as fills your limpid eyes,_  
>  _Dear little friend of mine, I never knew._  
>  _All-innocent you are, and yet all-wise._  
>  _(For heaven’s sake, stop worrying that shoe!)_

The package arrives at his lab on Monday, tossed into his inbox with a bunch of catalogs and magazines – junk mail for the modern forensic scientist. As is his habit, Barry lets the mail collect unexamined through the week, and at the end of the day of Friday, like every Friday, he shoves the pile into his messenger bag and takes it home. 

"Night, Julian."

"Night, Allen. See you on Monday."

Barry heads out, by-passes the squad room since Joe's off-duty tonight. Eddie and Iris are having a much needed date night and Joe is delighted to have the chance to play indulgent Pop-Pop with the baby, now almost six months old. Wally's on patrol, with Cisco and Caitlin on the comms. 

Which means that Barry has a real night off; something he hasn't enjoyed in months. Even better, it's not just a night, but a day and a whole weekend, too. Central City is in Wally's good hands and fast feet, and if there's a real emergency, they know how to reach Barry. 

And to celebrate the endless stretch of time before him, Barry's not going to run home. He's going to walk the dozen blocks to his apartment like a normal human being, enjoying the early autumn evening. Pizza's already been ordered and according to the app on his phone, he'll get home just in time to meet the delivery guy at the door.

Which he does. Barry tips the boy generously and heads up to his beautiful new apartment. It's really far too big for just him, but after years of living at Joe's, a real house with all the perks that that brings, Barry can't see any reason not to go all out with a large loft at the top of a newly renovated former factory, a place with light and character. A place where Barry can be himself.

Maybe, if the stars align properly, he can even have a visitor - one who isn't his engineering genius best friend or his foster sister, her husband and their new baby. Or his foster father. Or his not-so-chilly friend and personal physician.. But that's for some time down the road, when everyone's fully settled into this new timeline.

Barry doesn't scarf down the pizza; as he's grown into his speed, his caloric requirements have stabilized. He'll finish half of the pie tonight at normal, _human_ speed. And maybe have a beer or two, because it's Friday and he isn't on call for the weekend, unless there's a mass murder or a major meta-human attack. He laughs at the thought. As if two beers could come close to impairing him; it's just the idea of showing up with alcohol on the breath that makes him pause.

Pizza box put away, bottles rinsed and in the recycling bin, Barry's comfortably full and relaxed enough that he could possibly consider himself slightly buzzed, despite the utter impossibility of that condition. He enjoys the sensation for a while, but it fades after a few minutes and Barry's left feeling a little antsy. This down time is much longed for, but it's something he's not accustomed to and the need to do _something_ is almost overwhelming. Annoyed with his inability to relax, Barry empties out his messenger bag. The laptop goes onto the coffee table – he has some reports to file before Monday. But first he needs to sort through the pile of junk mail that's accumulated through the week.

The forensics magazines go into two piles - the glossy freebies he gets because he's a member of a dozen different professional organizations will get tossed into the circular file, along with the equipment catalogs and the announcements for various professional conventions. The more scholarly periodicals will migrate upstairs, not to the bedroom, but the bathroom as decent reading material.

Nothing surprises Barry until he gets to the bottom of the pile and finds a package, a ten-by-six inch bubble mailer that's surprisingly heavy. Barry recognizes the name and address of the sender - Weathersby and Stone - the law firm that handles all of the Harrison Wells Living Trust matters. He's a bit puzzled by this parcel. Important papers come by express mail, and are always followed up with a telephone call to ensure he does what needs to be done - usually signing something regarding a license agreement or a tax filing that needs his signature.

This is not paperwork, and it's too big and bulky to be just a thumb drive. Slightly unnerved, Barry takes a deep breath and tears the envelope open. Two items drop out and Barry sucks in his breath. 

The leash and collar.

It feels like another lifetime since he's seen these. And actually, it is. The Barry who had worn this collar, who had responded to this leash, doesn't really exist anymore. No more than the Cisco Ramon who had lost his brother to a drunk driver, or the Caitlin Snow who turned into Killer Frost, or the Iris West who nearly died at the hands of Barry's insane time remnant. Ashamed at all the damage he'd done, Barry had picked apart the timelines like a weaver with a tangled ball of silk, until he'd had everything fixed. Jay Garrick, the meddlesome old fool, had been wrong. 

You can repair the small things.

 _If you know what you're doing_.

Barry smiles at the memory of the person who had last said that phrase to him. Eobard Thawne, so beautiful, so menacing, so terrified. That version of the Reverse-Flash is gone, too. Erased by the hand of a benevolent god.

That thought makes Barry laugh. He's no god, not even close. He just has the facts and the speed and the patience to unknot the tangled threads of time.

He picks up the collar and rubs his thumb over the soft leather. He lifts it to his nose - he can still smell his own sweat, and some darker notes, too. Barry touches his tongue to the leather and imagines he can still taste Eobard, his essence that had spilled so freely.

There had been magic - speedster magic - in that collar, but Barry hadn't recognized it as such. He'd thought it just another bit of technology that the great and gorgeous and generous Harrison Wells had chosen to share with Barry, his willing disciple. He'd been so simple back then, so much in awe of the man who'd saved his life. It had been easier, too – not knowing the whys and wherefores. Sometimes Barry wonders if he should have reset that timeline, too - if he should have remained innocent of who Harrison Wells really had been.

He breathes in the scent of leather and sweat and sex and dismisses the thought. That Barry Allen had been a good man, but as dumb as a post. In retrospect, Eobard's patience with that Barry amazes him now. But then, that Eobard Thawne certainly knew how to manipulate that Barry's innocence.

_"Do you want to be a bad pet before we've even begun?"_

Barry closes his eyes and he can see them; Wells pretending to be crippled, Barry so desperate to please, to bring his mentor every bit of happiness he could, even if it meant pretending to be a puppy. 

Without conscious effort, Barry puts the collar around his neck and something clicks into place. It's not just the submissiveness that he'd once reveled in, or the memory of how Eobard's eyes had glowed at the sight of the Flash so well tucked under his thumb. It's the memory of how well Eobard knew what Barry had needed.

No one else has come close to giving that to him. Barry buckles the collar and wishes for the impossible, that he could feel Eobard use the speed force to tug on the collar, to make Barry come to heel. To enforce his will in the most gentle, implacable way.

He sees himself as he had been - slightly ridiculous in his hero worship, but not at all ridiculous in his need for submission, for obedience, for praise. Barry touches the collar and can feel Eobard's hands on his head, using a dog brush to groom his hair while Barry knelt at his feet. He can even recall the sense-memory of Eobard using a second brush on his body, even tugging at his feet – to groom his "paws".

The first time they'd played this game, Barry had been embarrassed, had felt more than a little humiliated at how his hero, Doctor Wells, had either fed him by hand or had made him eat scraps from the floor, at how he couldn't talk – only bark or keep silent. And the game of fetch – that still brings a heated flush to his face. He'd crashed into the table in a moment of over-exuberance and Eobard's dinner plate had fallen. Barry had ignored Eobard's commands to stop – he'd been starving and had eaten the fallen food – and Eobard had spanked him for his disobedience.

Distance – earned not just through time, but from experience – puts a different perspective on that evening. Eobard had seen something in him, had seen the need for submission, for approval, and even if he had gotten off how he'd manipulated Barry into such a humiliating situation, he'd also given Barry what he needed. A safe place to surrender control; to receive praise when praise had been earned and punishment when appropriate.

That first night might have been silly puppy play, but it had also mean a hell of a lot to Barry, and whenever he allows himself to think about it, he has to hope that it meant something to Eobard, too.

He tugs a little on the collar, as if Eobard's using that strange Speed Force magic to pull him closer, to remind him of just who _owns_ Barry Allen. _"No matter your performance, you're still my pet. Mine. And that outweighs everything."_

The rush isn't really sexual – he could get off as a sub in any number of clubs, from here to National City and beyond. No, it's the feeling of belonging, of the speed in his veins calling to the speed in Eobard's. The Flash and his Reverse – neither complete without the other.

Barry sighs and smiles a little. He picks up the envelope, wondering if there's a note; he finds a tiny thumb drive instead. Barry looks at the little piece of technology, it summons another memory – one that's not so pleasant. He'd been so angry – at the world, at Eobard, but mostly at himself. And seeing Eobard, hearing his voice – that had hurt in ways that took an impossibly long time to heal.

 _Time_ , well it does heal all wounds, Barry thinks with no small amount of amusement. 

He puts the drive into one of the open ports on his laptop and leans back, waiting for the video to launch. Eobard's face fills the screen. Unlike the first video, he's not at S.T.A.R. Labs, but in his bedroom at home and using the video camera on his laptop.

The greeting is familiar.

_"Hi, Barry. I guess if you're watching this, my past will never catch up with your future. I've failed and everything I've worked for over the last fifteen years has been for nothing."_

Eobard gives the camera that very self-deprecating Harrison Wells smile. _"As I've said before, bummer."_

"You're such a melodramatic peacock, Eobard. You know that, right?" Barry shakes his head as he talks to the video, amused by his antagonist's words and manner.

_"I've done a few of these little videos, and have instructed the trustees to send you over the years. I'm sure that you've gotten the first one by now. I hope that Henry's enjoying his freedom."_

Barry pauses the video. His dad – like his mom – is still dead. Those events cannot, should not be changed, and Henry's death is still an aching hole in his heart. 

Without thinking, Barry picks up the leash and slaps it against his thigh. It's a thin, almost insubstantial thing – more suited for a toy dog than a meta-human hound. Perhaps that was Eobard's intention, to make him feel small, to reduce him to something that could be tucked under his arm and carried off.

As he stares at the screen, at Eobard's stilled face, Barry's not sure he finds that idea so evil or malicious. He slaps the leash against his leg again and resumes the playback.

_"But Henry Allen is beside the point. I wanted to talk with you a bit – adult to adult. It's been a few years now, and I hope that time has given you some perspective on what I did, and why I did it. That your feelings about me are not so tinged with bitterness anymore."_

Barry has to laugh, Eobard is definitely a drama queen.

 _"I've had these things sent to you as a reminder of what we once were to each other. A reminder of how you trusted me and how I held that trust."_ Eobard frowns. _"A small thing, in light of greater betrayals, but you did trust me with your submission and I didn't break that trust. You were a beautiful and silly and giddy boy and I adored that. You made me forget a future filled with hurt. You were so good, you wanted to please and you did please me."_

Barry keeps slapping the leash, his thigh is stinging and the leather is cutting into his hand.

_"What we did mattered to me. It wasn't part of my grand scheme, my revenge against a future Flash that will no longer exist. But a way to teach a young man that he has value outside of the lightning in his cells. To make up for that earlier cruelty."_

Eobard pauses and looks at something in his hands. It's the collar. _"I'm sending you this as a reminder of our better times. Our best times."_

Barry touches that collar, once again secure around his neck.

 _"I don't know if you can look back at our time together and not find it tainted by the truths you undoubtedly discovered. But I want you to know that you honored me when you wore this. You might not have realized just what this collar meant, just what the leash meant. But I did."_ Eobard frowns and looks into the camera. _"And perhaps your ignorance of that significance is yet another sin against me."_

"One of many, Eobard. But a minor and forgivable one," Barry admits. 

_"Take care, Barry Allen. Thawne, out."_

"You really are a drama queen." Barry closes the laptop and gets to his feet, still holding the leash, still wearing the collar. It's almost nine o'clock, and he's promised to be someplace at nine on the dot. Barry shoves the leash in his pocket and makes sure his jacket covers the collar before heading out.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Eobard Thawne should resent this prison, but he doesn't.

He should despise his jailer, but he can't.

He should do so many things, but he remains passive.

Maybe it's because of the time he spent in the void, unmade and yet still conscious. Aware and utterly helpless until something plucks him out of the time stream and sets him down in a too-familiar universe.

Not something. _Someone._

Barry Allen, the Flash. His great enemy, who had once hurt him to his soul. The young man he'd terrorized and betrayed in retribution.

And yet, the Barry Allen who'd reset the timeline and rescued him from the void isn't the man he despised, nor is he the boy Eobard had nearly allowed himself to love.

This Barry Allen is something else. He's incandescent with power and Eobard wants to bathe in that like a cat sleeping in a patch of sunlight. 

Barry visits, not daily and sometimes not weekly, but just often enough to ensure that Eobard doesn't get too lonely. He's supposed to be here tonight and Eobard finds himself watching the clock like a child waiting for the last day of school to end.

It's humiliating, really. To accept the terms of imprisonment so readily, just on the promise of a future where all his dreams can come true.

Barry tells him, _"Stay here, out of sight, for the next two decades or so – just until living memory fades. After that, we can do anything you want."_

_Eobard can't believe what he's hearing. "We?"_

_"That what you've always wanted, isn't it? To be partners with the Flash – to be equals?"_

_"And you're saying if I'm good, if I'm patient, if I behave like a well-trained dog, I'll get the biscuit?"_

_Barry smirks and there's a tiny flicker of lightning in his eyes that makes Eobard shiver. "An interesting analogy, and accurate."_

Eobard's still not certain why Barry is so willing to trust him, nor does he quite believe that the trust is genuine, but for the moment, Eobard accepts the bargain and is mostly content. His prison is a most pleasant place – after all, it's one he'd built for himself, a monument to his ego. He even has a decent exterior perimeter, a good fifty feet around the back of the house before he's stopped by the energy wall.

The wall itself is a thing of beauty, but not insurmountable; it had taken Eobard less than a day to figure out how to disable it. But that is beside the point – it's supposed to be a measure of the trust between them. If Eobard leaves and resumes a course of villainy, or tries to get back to his time, all of the potential that Barry's offered is gone, a bone offered for good behavior, but snatched away if he's a bad dog.

With that, Eobard sighs. All of these canine metaphors are getting tiresome.

He pours two fingers of scotch and appreciates the nuances of the vintage before taking a sip. Yes, Barry has certainly made this a most pleasing prison – fine food delivered daily, a bar stocked with rare single-malts, a cellar filled with vintage wines – everything needed to satisfy Eobard's rarified palate. There's a working lab with vastly powerful computers for Eobard to stretch his intellectual muscles, contracts with universities and governments that challenge him, but only if he's a trained poodle.

When Eobard thinks about it, he is awed at how Barry Allen has been able to reorder the universe to his satisfaction. Yes, Eobard Thawne has still plunged that knife into Nora Allen's chest. Yes, Eobard Thawne has still murdered Tess Morgan and Harrison Wells, and stolen Harrison Wells' name and body and DNA, and has built S.T.A.R. Labs for the sole purpose of creating Barry Allen.

But that timeline deviates sometime after Barry wakes from his coma and before Eobard dons his yellow suit and slaughters two Mercury Lab guards in an attempt to steal the tachyon device – he remembers doing that, but it actually never happens. Eobard remembers a lot of things that never happen – fights and threats and angry words – but the reality is that Eobard never tricks Barry into restarting the particle accelerator, he never convinces Barry to undo his mother's murder, he's never erased from history because his ancestor kills himself. And he's still figuring out things that did happen. 

Like committing suicide - or pretending to. He's still not sure just how his life ends in this timeline.

According to the newspapers, Harrison Wells had retreated back to this house after the world learns that he could have prevented the whole debacle with the accelerator (Hartley Rathaway is to blame for that), and a few weeks later, he'd disappeared, leaving behind a video confessing to the murder of Nora Allen and a will naming Barry as the beneficiary of all his considerable worldly goods, including this house and S.T.A.R. Labs.

His body is never found, but that video makes it clear that he's already dead.

Barry had very neatly clipped six months out of the timeline and carefully stitched it back together. Yes, "Harrison Wells" could return from the dead, but that would mean a whole host of messy problems – like the murder confession and a lengthy jail sentence. Eobard is very neatly collared and leashed and brought to heel. He can leave, but where would he go?

Eobard sips his scotch and thinks, not for the first time, _Bravo, Barry. You've become a bigger villain than I ever was._

There is an infinitesimally brief displacement of air and the scent of ozone and electricity that signals the presence of a speedster. Barry has arrived.

Eobard pretends he doesn't hear the front door open, he ignores Barry until Barry takes the glass out of his hand and helps himself to the last mouthful of scotch.

"Evening, Eo."

Eobard closes his eyes and schools his face into lines of annoyance. He's supposed to hate Barry's use of the diminutive, but he can't help the jolt of happiness at the affection that such usage means. "I didn't think you were coming."

"I said I'd be here. Have the whole weekend off, no responsibilities until Monday."

Eobard growls, "And that's supposed to interest me?"

Barry gives him a puzzled look. "What's the matter? Why are you upset?"

"Because I feel like …" Eobard snaps his mouth shut. He doesn't know what he feels like.

Barry doesn't say anything, but his smile is enigmatic and that just annoys Eobard even more. 

Eobard mutters, "Perhaps you should go."

"Really?" Barry leans against the bar and rakes him with a glance. "You'd prefer the solitude?"

"Perhaps I prefer not to be treated as a spoiled child's pet, to be ignored only until you have no one else to play with."

Barry laughs, "Pet, Eo? That's what you think you are?" His smile is like a secret, and Eobard wants to punch him.

But before he can raise his fist, Barry pulls something out of his pocket, a long thin piece of leather. "Remember this?"

Eobard blinks. He _does_. A whole new set of memories push their way into his consciousness. "I made a video, didn't I?"

"I got it today." Barry drops the leash into Eobard's hand. "You are such a melodramatic mess, Eobard Thawne."

Eobard's not sure if Barry's insulting him. He's still trying to make up his mind when Barry leans in and whispers "Arf."

The sound goes through him, painful and endlessly quick. It's like the time he'd poured lightning into his cells. "You trusted me."

Barry licks Eobard's cheek, a wide, messy strip from jaw to brow. "Like any well-treated pet would trust its master." Barry sniffs around Eobard's ear, his hair, down his neck. He rests his head on Eobard's shoulder and makes a contented growl.

Eobard lifts his head and strokes Barry's hair, the memory of grooming him blossoms rich and vibrant, but when he reaches the back of Barry's neck, he stills.

"You're wearing the collar." Eobard's voice is harsh, but a whisper.

Barry nuzzles at him, verbalizations are unnecessary.

Eobard wonders if he can still use his powers on that collar – it would be such a small expenditure of the energy he's accumulated since his return to the land of the living. He reaches for the Speed Force and _tugs_.

Barry lifts his head, his smile radiant.

"Are you a good boy?"

Barry drops to his knees and looks at him, his gaze is lambent, trusting. Eobard closes his eyes for the briefest of seconds; he can't bear to look away. He combs his fingers through Barry's hair and pulls him close. There's no need to waste energy, at least not yet.

"You know what I want? You know how to be a good boy?"

Barry nods and gets on all fours. Eobard reaches for the leash and clips it onto the collar. "Come along, then."

Eobard doesn't need to pull on the leash. Barry follows, as well-trained as ever.

__

FIN


End file.
